


5 Times Crowley Tried To Be Festive + 1 Time He Succeeded

by Z A Dusk (snakeandmoon)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Christmas, Christmas Caroling, Christmas Fluff, Cooking, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff and Humor, Gift Exchange, Gift Fic, Ice Skating, M/M, Post-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, christmas: not easy for demons, just two dorks in love really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:01:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28485765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeandmoon/pseuds/Z%20A%20Dusk
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale enjoy a festive holiday in Tadfield after the apocalypse. It takes Crowley a few times to get the hang of this festive thing - who knew getting into the Christmas spirit could be so challenging!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 38
Collections: Good Snowmens Winter Gift Exchange





	5 Times Crowley Tried To Be Festive + 1 Time He Succeeded

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miraworos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/gifts).



> A gift for [Mira Woros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraworos/gifts) as part of the Good Snowmens festive exchange.

**1\. Ice Skating**

“Hurry up, Crowley!”

Crowley grumbled something about impatient angels, manifesting himself a pair of sleek black skates with red laces and throwing them over his shoulder in a jaunty manner

Truth be told, Aziraphale’s idea of a festive break in Tadfield was working out well. Crowley had been loath to mingle with a bunch of humans he barely knew, and yet had somehow stopped the apocalypse alongside. But Book-Girl was pretty good company, not that he’d tell her that, and it was hard not to like Newt.

Plus there was something to be said for keeping an eye on the antichrist.

Not to mention watching Aziraphale get excited at snowmen, festive lights, Christmas food and carols. Crowley made vague noises about it being undemonic to enjoy Christmas, but who was watching? And it was always nice to see the angel enthusiastic and, dare he say it, a little carefree. Satan knew he’d had enough care for the past six thousand years. 

That night was the opening of the yearly ice rink in a field just behind the Youngs’ house. “I lack the coordination for skating,” Aziraphale had told him. “And I assume you do too, given your dancing. But it should be fun nevertheless.”

Cheeky bastard. As it happened, Crowley was a decent skater. He’d had to learn some years ago when Hell had decided to target a champion skater for their latest temptation. It might be fun to get on the ice and surprise Aziraphale with his prowess.

On the other hand, if he hid his skills, there would be ample opportunity for Aziraphale to help him up, hold him steady, grab his hand… mmm, there was a thought. Aziraphale had been free and easy with his affection since the Apocalypse, and Crowley lived for every touch and every shy kiss. 

“Right then, let’s go,” he said, descending the narrow wooden stairs in their quaint holiday cottage, to find Aziraphale looking painfully adorable in a thick camel coat, and a cream hat, complete with a white fluffy bobble on top. His scarf and gloves were tartan, because of course they were.

Crowley had to admit, the ice rink looked like something out of a fairytale, with oversized bauble lights marking out the path, and the trees all around the rink strung with twinkling fairy lights. 

Remembering his plan, and Aziraphale’s cheeky assumptions, Crowley made his way unsteadily onto the ice.

“Right angel, I’ll show you how it’s done!” He proclaimed, executing a terrible turn and letting himself crash into Aziraphale, who caught him with an indulgent smile that made the whole thing worth it. 

“Thank you,” he said with a huge smile and all the charm he could muster, then tried again, immediately wobbling so the angel had to steady him. The feel of a warm hand in his and the other hand solicitously taking his elbow made Crowley’s balance waver for real.

It was all going according to plan, but something was wrong. Aziraphale wasn’t really skating as such, more just keeping still and providing support for Crowley. Huh. What was the angel up to?

Perhaps something more bombastic was called for. With a wave at Anathema and Newt, Crowley set off with the intention of wobbling adorably along the way. Unfortunately he’d miscalculated his trajectory and found himself careening towards them at breakneck speed. Before he could bowl them over like bowling pins, a solid weight struck him and swept him away from them. Panting, Crowley rested his hands on his knees for a moment to regain his equilibrium. When he looked up, his suspicions were confirmed. The tartan streak who’d zoomed in to save him from disaster was looking at him with no small measure of annoyance.

“Crowley, you could have hurt someone!”

“I thought you couldn’t skate,” he rejoindered, standing up and glaring at Aziraphale.

“Yes, well. It’s a good job I can.”

The angel huffed and headed out onto the ice, but with a twinkle in his eye that left Crowley quite certain he wouldn’t need ice skating as an excuse to steal a few kisses that night.

* * *

**2\. Christmas Pudding**

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was trying to sound annoyed, but couldn’t keep the laughter from his voice. “I cannot believe that we have come here, for a festive country retreat, and have not a single spirit in the house to douse the Christmas pudding with. You worked so hard on it too, my dear.”

“It’ll be fine, angel.” Crowley lifted the lid of the saucepan and peered at the pudding, wrapped in its muslin cloth, which had nearly finished boiling. The scent of cinnamon and orange zest was mouth-watering. “I’ll just use a demonic miracle to light it. Made of flame, me.”

“First of all.” Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist as he leaned in to inhale the scent of the pudding, which smelled like Christmas incarnate. “You are not made of flame. Your freezing hands and feet after last night’s snowball fight bear out that fact.”

“You warmed them for me though.” Crowley grinned, leaning down and capturing Aziraphale’s mouth in a kiss that made his breath catch in his chest. They could do this, now. He could literally spend a winter holiday doing nothing but kiss his demon, if he so desired, and the thought made him light headed.

It took him a moment to regain the sense to speak again. “And second of all, you know how I feel about miracled food.”

“But it’s not miracled food, is it? It’s just a little infernal fire. The pudding was hours of hard manual labour, angel. I still have calluses from all the stirring.”

“Precisely why I do not want to risk it. It will be perfectly lovely with custard, and there’s no need for a conflagration.”

“Custard?” Crowley wrinkled his nose in a way that Aziraphale found far too adorable, though he tried not to just beam insensibly at the demon. “Custard is melted yellow misery, angel. I’m certain Beelzebub invented it so we could all know what boredom tastes like.”

“Be that as it may, I am quite certain it is the smartest course of action--” Aziraphale began, but Crowley was already hoisting the pudding from the saucepan, turning it out, and preparing it for serving. Aziraphale was powerless to do anything as Crowley bustled past him to the dining table, which was festooned with garlands and bore several large festive centrepieces replete with more pine cones, orange slices, and holly berries than one house really needed.

Crowley stepped back, eyeing the pudding proudly, and lit it with a snap of his fingers. There was a sound like several firecrackers going off at once, and the flames whooshed almost to the ceiling. Springing into action, Aziraphale snapped his fingers and a sudden jet of water doused the fire before it could do any damage.

When they both stepped closer, they were greeted by the sight of a plateful of ash, dotted with charred raisins. Crowley looked crestfallen.

“Cheer up darling. “Aziraphale rubbed his back. “It was either that or explain to R. P. Tyler why we singed his rental cottage.”

Crowley sighed, then brightened a little, rummaging in the blackened mess and coming up with something silver held triumphantly between his fingers.

“At least the sixpence survived. Sign of good luck, you know.”

“Oh, I think we’re already pretty lucky.” Aziraphale smiled, and leaned up to kiss the disappointment away.

* * *

**3\. Gifts**

“I know Christmas isn’t for a few days, but let’s exchange gifts.” Aziraphale suggested as they lounged before the fire, snuggled together under a thick tartan blanket that Crowley was certain hadn’t been there when they arrived, sipping mulled wine. “Christmas Day will be busy enough with dinner with Newt and Anathema, and Christmas Eve is taken up with caroling …”

“Sure.” Crowley sat up, putting his feet in the fluffy black and red slippers that he would never admit to liking, but which he had barely taken off since Aziraphale gave them to him. “I’m impatient too.”

“You’re always impatient.” Aziraphale chided, and Crowley grinned, reaching out to slide his hand around the angel’s waist. 

“Yeah, and you like it.” He pointed out, pulling Aziraphale closer and nuzzling his hair, still wondering at the fact that he could. 

Then, before he could get further distracted, he retrieved their gifts from the small table beside the tree. “You first.” He told Aziraphale, handing him a small tartan-wrapped package. Truth be told, the whole Christmas gift-giving thing was new to Crowley, and he had no idea how to do it right. Gifts, sure, he could do those. But Christmas gifts? They seemed like a strange and slightly spiritual mystery that he wasn’t entirely sure he liked.

But he’d wanted to give his angel a proper traditional British Christmas to celebrate the fact that they could be together now, and a gift was part of that.

Aziraphale opened the paper eagerly, then gave Crowley a curious look. “It’s … lovely?” he said, in what Crowley was sure must be his best attempt at politeness.

“It’s a DVD.” Crowley explained, as if Aziraphale had never seen one before. Which he possibly hadn’t. “Apparently it’s based on that Jane Austen book you like.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale smiled at him. “That was very thoughtful of you.”

“You hate it.” Crowley sighed. “I should have realised. You love books, not films. It’s just that I love films, and I thought maybe we could watch one or two together ... ”

“I love that you thought of me.” Aziraphale said genuinely. “It’s just that I have already seen it. On Netflix.”

“You … you’ve seen it on … you’ve what?” Crowley was wondering if he’d had six glasses of mulled wine too many. “You never … you haven’t. You don’t.”

“I have, and I do.” Aziraphale said primly. “I am perfectly cognizant of modern technology when I want to be. I simply do not often want to be. But I enjoy stories in all their many forms.”

“We could have watched stuff together!” Crowley said indignantly, feeling rather like he’d been cheated out of something he would have adored sharing with Aziraphale.

“Oh come now Crowley, my tastes would bore you. I mostly watch period dramas and documentaries.”

Crowley stared. Then stared a bit longer. Then shaking his head, and with no idea what to do, he opened his own gift. When he didn’t say anything, stunned into silence, Aziraphale blurted out, “they’re miracled to stay fresh!”

“They’re dead mice.” Crowley said helplessly. Then the penny dropped, slowly, with a painful clang. “For when I’m a snake … angel … I’m still me. I still eat human food, if I eat at all.”

“Oh! Oh my good lord Crowley I am SO sorry. I was not trying to say that you turn into an animal or cease to be yourself, I swear, I was only … I was only …”

“Trying to show acceptance of my nature?”

Aziraphale nodded, looking wretched. “And you just wanted us to share something new.”

Crowley couldn’t help laughing. “Gift giving, A for effort, try again next year. Shall I miracle these elsewhere?”

“Please do, I beg you. Then perhaps we can find something decent that we can both eat.”

“Yes.” Crowley agreed. “And, seeing as you’re not as opposed to television, we could watch a film? Pretty sure I can miracle the TV to show anything, your choice.”

Aziraphale gave him a thoroughly disarming smile.

“Lovely.”

* * *

**4\. Carol Singing**

“Angel, why do we have to go carol singing? Why do I of all people have to go carol-singing?”

Aziraphale sighed, wrapping a black and red scarf around Crowley’s neck and trying not to be distracted by how fetching he looked in the smart black winter coat he’d let Aziraphale buy him.

“The Them were so enthusiastic, Crowley, and they really did go through a lot this year. It won’t take long, and you do have a lovely voice.”

“How do you know? Might sound like a hellhound having its nails trimmed.”

“You sing when you’re cooking.”

Crowley gave him a look of utter shock.

“I do?”

“Yes, dear, you do, and I love it. Now come on, we oughtn’t to keep our young friends waiting.”

Aziraphale hurried Crowley out of the door and towards the village green, where the Them were gathered to wait for them. The children were in typical high spirits as they stamped their feet and tussled with each other to keep warm. As they stopped at the first house, the Them burst into a lusty rendition of Hark The Herald Angels Sing. Crowley vaguely mouthed the right words until Aziraphale pointedly nudged him with his toe, whereupon Crowley, in a pitch-perfect and melodic voice, sang:

_ Hell on earth and torture mild, _

_ Satan and sinners reconciled! _

He gave Aziraphale a helpless look, and took a deep breath, only to regale a shocked R. P. Tyler with:

_ Dagon, by highest Hell adored, _

_ Beez the everlasting Lord! _

“Disgraceful! You can be sure I shall write to the Tadfield Advertiser about this, Adam Young, and don’t think I won’t tell your father! Bringing your friends-- adults who ought to know better-- to make a mockery of our traditions!”

He slammed the door and left four children and Aziraphale staring at Crowley, who looked sheepish.   
  
“Look, I don’t know why. It just happened, alright?”

“Perhaps we ought to go home and leave the young people to it?” Aziraphale suggested.

“Nope. Said I’d carol, so I’m caroling.” 

At the next house, Aziraphale could see the way Crowley tensed before he began to sing, clearly pouring all his concentration into getting the words right. It worked perfectly.

Unfortunately, Crowley also began to smoke slightly, small light grey clouds rising from his coat as if he’d been lightly scorched.   
  
“Perhaps we ought to go home after all,” he muttered, to hearty agreement from Aziraphale, who bid the Them farewell and led Crowley, still smoking slightly, down the quaint village streets to their rented cottage.

* * *

**5\. Decorations**

“Crowley, really. You can’t shout at the Christmas tree.”

“I can and I am. It’s got a job to do, and it needs someone to show it its place,” Crowley retorted, putting his hands on his hips and staring at the recalcitrant pine, which responded with a subtle shake of its branches and an immense spill of pine needles all over the carpet.

“Crowley.”

“Yes, angel?” He groused.

“Go in the kitchen and mind the mulled wine. I am going to talk kindly to our poor tree, and you will just have to pretend you hear nothing.”

Grumbling, Crowley went with a bad grace, muttering something about how his own plants would never dare such impertinence. 

* * *

**6\. Feeling Festive**

“Crowley, is this necessary?” Aziraphale laughed, groping his way down the stairs, currently unable to see thanks to Crowley’s hand over his eyes.

“It’s not a surprise if you can see it,” Crowley told him, guiding him down the last steps and into the living room of the cottage. “Alright, you can look now,” he added, dropping his hand.

“I still can’t see it,” Aziraphale said, with a note of confusion. Crowley gave him a bright smile.

“Look harder.”

Aziraphale did so, walking around the cheerily festooned lounge, keeping an eye out for anything out of place. Eventually he spotted it-- a small golden envelope propped up on the mantelpiece. Curious, he picked it up with a glance at Crowley, who looked like he was trying to be casual, and utterly failing. 

“Open it!” the demon exclaimed impatiently, looking like he was practically bouncing in place with impatience. Aziraphale did so, and found himself holding a heavy iron key, attached to a keychain bearing the name “Old Walls.”

“Crowley…?”

“‘S a little cottage over in the South Downs. If you don’t like it we can find another one. Or if you don’t want to live with me… it’s just that we’re practically living together now anyway, and it’s been so good being here with you…”

“Despite the pudding disaster?” Aziraphale enquired, crossing the floor to wrap both arms around Crowley’s waist.   
  
“Despite that,” the demon laughed.

“Even though you were smoking like an incense cone at one point?”

“Yep.”

“And you wish to live with me, despite my terrible secret Netflix account and the fact that I tried to give you raw mice?”

“In spite of all those things.” Crowley was smiling adoringly at him, and Aziraphale felt his heart hammering in his chest. His demon truly wanted to move to the country with him and start their lives together.

“So…” Crowley leaned down and nuzzled his nose. “What do you think?”

“Yes!” Aziraphale exclaimed, making Crowley jump with his sudden uncharacteristic volume. “Of course, yes!!”

Crowley beamed then, sweeping Aziraphale off his feet and twirling him around before setting him back on the floor and pressing kisses all over his face.

“I just have one ground rule,” Aziraphale told him solemnly.

“What’s that then?”

“No infernal flaming of the Christmas pudding.”

Crowley gave him a wicked grin. “Alright then. If you insist.”

  
  
  



End file.
